Petals Under Eagle Talons
by Corvidfeathers
Summary: The Dama Rossa isn't phased by interrogation, but begins to question the morality of the Templar cause and her own killings.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: So I basically took a prompt from the kinkmeme, the one line of info Ubisoft gives about the Dama Rossa, and ran with both. I have all the chapters of this story written out, I will post the next tomorrow. This fic takes place in the bigger storyline of a larger fic I am planning.**

They had thrown her in the cell some hours before. The Dama Rossa knew much of torture, and she knew they were trying to use her mind against her. Her hands were linked together and chain to the wall holding her upright, and her feet hobbled, leaving her defenseless and unable to explore the room she was confined in. They were trying to make her feel vulnerable. The pitch black room was intended to provide a backdrop for imagined horrors, created by anxiety and apprehension of the torment that was sure to come.

It was a standard softening up technique. Hardened fighters were far more likely to be afraid of their past victims, of shadows, then of pain. Being a secretive operative led one to become paranoid and the assassins obviously were trying to utilize this.

She told herself she was far above such things. She had killed many, many men, and feared few individuals, living or dead. One of those few was her master, Cesare Borgia. If she spilled his secrets, the punishments him and her fellow Templars would inflict upon her would be far worse than anything an assassin could dream up. Cesare had assembled a fine group of psychopaths to do his bidding. Herself included.

The Dama Rossa twisted in her bonds, running her gloved hands over the surface behind her. She had been stripped of her lethal hairpin, and the other weapons she had carried. Even the set of lockpicks, borrowed from Faustina and concealed in her hairdo, had been found and confiscated. If the Dama Rossa got out of this alive, she was going to have a very annoyed Thief on her hands.

She focused on this instead of the darkness, which seemed to be pushing in on her. She got on well with the Thief, the Templar information-seeker and con. She had been coerced into serving the Templar Order a year or two before Faustina, when the bloody murder of her fiance had grabbed the attention of the Templars, and had trained alongside the Thief many times.

Anyone with a talent for tracking and killing inevitably got an invitation to join the Templars' secret force. She loathed her recruiter, the Templar spymaster Baltasar de Silva. Maybe if she hadn't been roped into his cause she could have put her murderous nature aside, locked it back up, and become Garnette again.

But no, it wasn't likely. Murdering her lover, the traitor, had released something in the Dama Rossa she had never wanted to acknowledge before. Something that once unleashed could never be fully under control again.  
>Her thoughts wandered like this for a long time.<p>

Baltasar had been the one to send her on this mission. Her dislike of the man almost made her suspect that he had sent her on a suicide mission just to be rid of the nuisance, but she knew Baltasar was far too good a spymaster to waste a talented operative like her.

The Dama Rossa had been sent to thin the assassin ranks. A promising novice was supposedly being sent on a mission, and she was to ambush and elminate him. Instead she had found herself ambushed by none other than Ezio Auditore.

It was surprising she hadn't been killed outright, as was the Assassins' usual way. They usually did their interrogation on the spot, if they bothered with it, and then disposed of the target. This was new, as far as she knew at least.

Though it shouldn't have been too unexpected. The Templars had learned from the Assassins and adapted their own secretive killing force, why wouldn't the Assassins learn from their counterparts?

After several hours hunger began to gnaw at her belly. There had been enough missions were she had tracked her prey for days and not eaten anything out of suspicion or haste, so it was easy to ignore. Worse was the thirst. Within the first day her throat was burning, and her once lovely lips were dry and cracked.

It became harder and harder to stand, and she slumped against the wall uncomfortably. The cuffs chafed unpleasantly, quite a feat given the slenderness of her wrists.

She could only thank the fact she did not like to eat or drink before a mission for keeping her pride intact, as she had not had to relieve herself. That humiliation would have been worse for the proud Templar then pain.

Still she had not seen hide nor hair of her captors. The cell remained pitch black and silent. As hard as she trained, as long as she listened, she couldn't pick up the sound of the streets of Roma, or conversation, or anything. She kept herself occupied with tactical exercises and playing matchmaker for the Thief (the woman did not see the pleasure of the company of men, a serious problem that needed to be rectified), to keep her imagination from what lay ahead.

Sometimes she sang songs in her native language, the language of England, which she had fled years previous in pursuit of her fiancé. The words filled up the silence, and (she hoped) spited her captors. She wanted to show them she had not sunk into despair.

After many hours, perhaps two days, dehydration had driven her to near delirium. She hung limply in the chains, far from broken, but no longer seeing the point in showing defiance to someone who wasn't even there. The Dama Rossa found her initial observations of the room had been wrong. It had seemed cold and drafty at first. Now it was far too warm, and the darkness seemed to be warm and constricting. Sweat dripped from her forehead, and stung her eyes. She couldn't even reach up a hand to wipe it away.  
>Paradoxically, she was trembling, and goosebumps rose of her skin as if she was freezing. It brought back memories of England, the cold winter evenings huddled by the hearth...<br>When she had finally settled into near-delirium, a door she had not been able to make out before burst open. The Dama Rossa squeezed her lids shut against then unbearably bright light, and when she opened them again there was a pair of hooded amber eyes meeting her own.


	2. Chapter 2

She stared at the assassin. His robes were unbelievably _white_. Before she had only caught glimpses of the assassins in battler, usually novices in gray, with their uniforms bloodied and torn.

The Dama Rossa tried to imagine killing him. Ever since her first kill, she had always been able to find reason to kill the targets the Templars assigned her. If she could find any hint of Joseph, her first victiom, she could kill them with ease. Yes, she could definitely see Joseph in Ezio Auditore. The angle of his jaw, and the dark stubble of a heard that covered his chin, they reminded her of the traitor.

She had taken the lives of many men, but at the same time, only Joseph. Over and over.

But she was in no position to kill him now. The assassin took a step towards her, a small smirk making the corners of his mouth twitch. It wasn't so much smug as _flirtatiousness_.

She shuddered internally.

"My dear Dama Rosa," he put a gloved hand up to her face, running a finger over the contours of one cheek. "I don't suppose you will concede to tell us what Cesare Borgia is planning?"

Gathering what little moisture was left in her dry mouth, she spit at him. He stepped aside easily, and the gesture was in vain.

"What of your Templar brothers, then?" he queried. "Where are they? Who are they?"

She said nothing, not dignifying the implication she would betray her fellows with a retort. The Dama Rossa had no particular love for many of them, but they were still her comrades. She loathed traitors, and enjoyed the missions to hunt them down.

"I have heard rumors of you," his voice was low, secretive. "They say a man must not shame his woman with unfaithfulness, or the Dama Rossa of Roma will hunt him down." His features rearranged into a frown that was nearly a pout. "If they are true, you are stealing my work. You are hardly in a position to appreciate the favor of such ladies."

"It is no business of yours what I do in my free time," she hissed. The rumors were true, to an extent. She didn't mean to, not all the time at least... But there were so many Jospephs in the world, so many horrible men taking advantage of their wives or girlfriends. Sometimes she only meant to warn them... but... she was trained to kill, not to beat. Mistakes were made.

"I have heard tales of another Templar killer, a monster who stalks the streets, butchering Courtesans for his own sick amusement," his hand moved to brush the pale skin of her neck. She tensed, feeling his fingers trace what would be a killing blow had it been inflicted with a blade. "Perhaps you are just the female equivalent? Do you hunt your query for your own pleasure? Or for the Templar cause?"

"You will gain nothing from my answers," she snapped. She didn't know which of the others he referred to, if the rumors he spoke of were even true, but she did not like the comparison to someone living out perverted fantasies. "I thought you were interested in schemes to conquer, not the motives of killers."

"I am merely curious, signora," Ezio said curtly, taking a step back. She relaxed, glad his hands were off her.

The blow took her by surprise. It was delivered expertly, a strike with his hidden blade that sliced a thin line down her exposed collar. It wasn't deep, but it hurt.

"You know," the assassin sounded contemplative. "Your master is just the sort of man you seem to hunt."

She ignored the words. Cesare was a brute, a bastard, there was no denying that. But the Assassins were little better. They caused a commotion, murdered people, all for naught. If the Borgias were eliminated, another corrupt noble family would take control, bringing ewith them another set of feuds and ploys. It was how it worked in England, and it was how it worked in Italia.

The next strike was to her shoulder, slicing through flesh to expose muscle below. The white-hot pain lanced through her. She bit her tongue, and tasted blood.

Without giving her the slightest reprieve, the assassin drew his sword and slashed at her shin. The spot would normally be protected by her customary high boots, but those had been taken from her when the assassins had found slender knifes concealed in them.

More blows rained down on her. They started off as light cuts to various extremities, along with the occasional punch. He seemed reluctant to use his fists on a woman, for whatever reason. Ezio was careful in the placement of the injuries, as not to cause her to bleed out or serious incapacitate her.

He was clearly not well practiced however, clumsy in his methods. The Damma Rossa had seen both Baltasar and Fiora extract the desired information from their victims in minutes, by the mere application of the blade to particularly sensitive areas.

She had extracted information from people herself, of course. It wasn't her favorite task, but it had to be done.

The Dama Rossa did not cry out in the first hour. She clamped her jaw shut, and allowed herself to go limp. As much as she would have rather kept on glaring at him, the strikes would hurt more and do more damage if her muscles were pulled taut. It was like the Thief had taught her, when leaping from buildings you had to roll with the impact to keep your bones from shattering.

As hard as she tried not to let it get to her, Ezio was unnerving. His yellow eyes burned into her, as he asked her the questions over and over again.

"What are the Templars planning?"

He never seemed to tire of finding a new spot to make an incision. He didn''t appear to be taking any joy from the task, but he did it methodically and without a trace of hesitation. When the hours dragged on and still she would not talk, he got angry. He used his fists more. One punch hit her jaw and snapped her head back against the stone with a sickening crunch.

The Dama Rossa's vision blurred, and her stomach lurched. For a time after that she could only see in fractured images, so she closed her eyes. The thirst had become a dull ache at the back of her throat. She sunk farther into delirium, the dehydration combined with the blow to the head taking its toll.

She imagined many Templars had met similar fates over the years. The Assassin Order had been rediscovering its brutal roots. The figure in white, tireless, ageless, ancient and young at the same time, beat away at her. The questions he asked faded to a garble of meaningless syllables that seemed to take on the cadences of other people sometimes.

She heard her mother, chiding her softly for her impatience. She had never been a patient child, always eager to move on to the next stage in life, the next step in her path. She had known exactly what she had wanted, too. Garnette had wanted to marry Joseph, and raise children together. He would inherit her father's business, and they could run it together.

In her fever she laughed, laughed at how young and deluded she had been.  
>Sometimes the voice took on the tones of Joseph, low and reassuring, whispering empty promises into her ears. The sound left a bitter taste in her mouth. When the light shifted enough to make the assassin something other then a figure in white, faceless, it was Joseph. Joseph who had only once laid a hand to her.<p>

The night she had killed him. He had only had a small knife. In desperation he had tried to stab her hand, to make her let go of the hairpin embedded in his throat.

The scar was hidden under her right glove.

It was so cruel, a cruel trick, that she saw him. She couldn't kill someone without seeing him, without falling in and out of love with him again. She couldn't have an enemy without the ghost of her fiance projected over them.

Sometimes the murmurs became the silky smooth voice of Baltasar de Silva, enticing her into the life of a Templar. Promising her an outlet for her nearly discovered bloodlust, promising a way to rid the world of the traitors and cutthroats. These imaginings should have strengthened her resolve, but they merely fed the growing sense of unease in her chest.

When the pain was so great it broke through the haze surrounding her consciousness, at last she opened her mouth. And screamed.

She screamed, but didn't utter a word of what he wanted to know. She screamed until her voice was hoarse and broken.

Finally, though she didn't see him leave, the omnipresent assassin left. It was as if one moment he was there, and the next she was all alone in her chamber of torture.

The last impression she had of her torture was unnerving. He had stared at her with wide gold eyes, for once not clouded with hate, but with pity.  
>Despite this the Dama Rossa almost preferred the company.<p>

She hung there, shaking, bleeding, half awake and half trapped in her memories, as the darkness closed back in and the room was once more silent.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning- or was it the next night? She had given up trying to keep track of the hours- Ezio reappeared. Once again his robes were pristine white, standing out against the dark of the cell like a wraith. In her blurred vision he resembled such a spirit, with the edges of his form smudged. His hood shadowed his face, but his raptor eyes burned through, regarding her hatefully.

He spoke. His voice was calm, but an ill-concealed rage seethed beneath the cold facade. "Two of my novices were killed by your brothers last night."

The Dama Rossa forced a smirk onto her face. Why was he telling her this? It would only serve to strengthen her resolve, reassure her that her silence was helping her fellows.  
>But doubt rose, bitter, and a little flicker of sympathy as well. She could hear the grief, see the weariness in his posture as much as he tried to hide it. The Dama Rossa couldn;t believe she was feeling <em>sorry<em> for this assassin, this man who had tortured her into unconsciousness, the man who had been responsible for the deaths of so many, and whose hand she would likely die by,

The assassin seemed to see that doubt, and pressed his advantage, his eyes aflame with passion as he delivered his little speech "They were just children. Barely older then seventeen, the both of them. Their lives had been ruined by the Borgia, and they only wanted to strike back to protect their world. And they died, gave their lives for our cause."

She bent her head. "Perhaps you shouldn't have filled their heads with zealots' lies," she said coldly. "The Templars provide stability. The Assassins know only war."

She was expecting a blow, and was not disappointed. Her victory in provoking him was short lived, however. In contrast to the assassin's methodical torture the day before, he was just lashing out. She had heard Ezio Auditore had started his career as an assassin for revenge, much as she had. It showed. He may have tried to conceal his temper beneath the venear of a learned mentor, but he was still hot headed as he was protrayed in the stories.

He hit her, again and again, not bothering to unsheathe his blade and use it. The punches were accurate, despite his fury. They left spreading purple bruises on her face, her legs, torso, and arms. After the first few she retreated back into her mind, as the only way to escape the pain. The Dama Rossa tried to disconnect herself from it all, to let her thoughts drift elsewhere.

Ezio was so very unlike Cesare Borgia. Though Cesare was liable to lose his cool when one of his commanders or underlings was killed, his fits of temper were akin to the tantrums of a child whose favorite toys had been broken. That was all they were after all, especially his twenty-one Templar operatives. Toys, weapons, finally-honed to be the sort of psychopaths he needed to complete his dirtiest jobs.

Ezio's rage was more that of a father whose sons or daughters had been killed. To think, those that he was exacting revenge on her for had been mere novices in his Order. There was loyalty in the Templar ranks, yes, but the only loyalty tied to Cesare Borgia was one sided. As far as she knew there wasn't an individual alive the man wouldn't backstab to get an advantage over someone else. A very pragmatic individual.

Still, there was something alluring, endearing about this man's seemingly unshakable naivety. For a commander to get attached to his troops... it was odd, especially for the murderous assassins.

He kept calling the other Templars the Dama Rossa's 'brothers'. She had heard the old Templars had referred to each other as such, and the Assassins had kept this practice for many centuries. But this tradition was not kept among the ranks of Templars she knew. There was no man in the Templar Order she would call brother, no one she would stake her life for, and no one who would put their own lives at risk for her.

Well, no, she amended that thought. She might go to lengths to save Faustina, if the need arose.

However the point was that thought she believed tentatively in the Templar cause, she didn't see her fellows as anything more then the bloodthirsty dogs they were.

With a particularly vicious jab to her ribs, she was brought back to reality. Something cracked. A second blow to her ribcage sent her into a coughing fit. Blood was brought up to her throat, and she started to choke. For the first time in the horrible ordeal she was truly terrified. She couldn't move her neck at an angle to clear her throat, and the coughing only succeeded in bringing up more. Her efforts grew more and more frantic, and she twisted in her chains, trying desperately to free her hands.

Ezio regarded her for a moment, and then lowered his fists. He stepped forward and took her head in his hands, tilting it forward to allow the blood to drain from her mouth. The Dama Rossa gasped for air, her chest heaving. After a moment he lowered his hands.

Once she had gotten her breath back, she regarded her capturer warily. It was common sense that he had saved her- after all she was his only lead on the Templar plans at that moment. Nevertheless, she had defied him again and again. A crueler torturer might have stepped back and watched her drown in her own blood in punishment.

This, along with his grief over his apprentices, added kindling to the small flame of respect she had developed for the assassin. Perhaps if he had encountered her before Baltasar, she would be standing at his side. Or perhaps the Assassins had higher standards than the Templars.

His uniform, so clean and pristine, was not splattered with blood. Her blood. It was a pity, really, to stain such fine clothing.

"Dama Rossa," Ezio leaned close to her. "What do you gain from this? Only pain." His left hand moved up to the small of her back, tracing the Templar insignia that had been tattooed there.

Several years before the Dama Rossa badly injured in a mission and had made the mistake of reporting before getting herself patched up. Fiora had sent her to Malfatto, and she had barely made it to the doctor's doorstep before collapsing from blood loss. When she had woken, her wounds had been tended to, but the tattoo had been added to her growing collection of scars. It was made with ink and poison, both needled and burned into her skin. She had no clue as to the Doctor's motivations as to why he had tattooed her. When she had questioned him, he only had regarded her with masked eyes and held out his hand for payment. The young woman had been too perturbed by the doctor to press the question.

Perhaps it had been intended to ward off any unwanted attention, if she were to be cornered by a man. If so, whoever had ordered the tattoo branded on her had sadly underestimated her prowess with turning anything at hand into a weapon.

It didn't seem to deter Ezio now. His gloved hand traced it idly as he spoke. "You could save yourself a lot of agony, if you just gave in." His voice, so angry earlier, was suddenly smooth as honey. It sent unwanted tremor through her.

"No," she said flatly. She had withstood all the pain without wavering- why was it so hard now? "I am many things, Ezio Auditore, but I will never be called a traitor."

It certainly wasn't the seduction. The Dama Rossa had seduced a great many men, targets or not, and she was clever enough not to fall prey to the same trap. It was something... else.

He looked at her with the same pity she had seen reflected in his expression the day before, and leaned forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. His lips were cold on her fevered skin, and to her shame she shuddered again.

"I will give you one more chance to change your mind," the assassin said, turning on his heel and leaving her once more to her thoughts.

As soon as he was gone, Joseph whispered into her delirious mind, taunting her. _Dear Garnette, perhaps you chose the wrong side? You murdered me, all those times, for naught._

The Dama Rossa almost missed her torturer. 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N See if you can spot the another multiplayer character that I sneaked backstory for into this chapter.**

**Grace- Thanks for the reviews, and for the correction on the last chapter. Uploading this one early for you ^^**

**This is the second-to-last chapter.**

The routine was growing tired- once more the assassin stalked into her cell. She had spent the night drifting in and out of consciousness. Sometimes she was boiling alive, drenched with sweat and pressing herself against the cool stone to try to relieve the heat. Other times the cold wall seemed to leach the warmth from her body, leaving her shaking.

The cuffs had bit deep into her flesh, wearing away her gloves and the skin beneath. The muscles were strained from all the times her legs had failed to hold her up. In moments of clarity, the Dama Rossa feared that if she collapsed for too long the blood would be cut off from her hands and she would lose them.

Most of the time her mind was too clouded with agony and sickness to recall these concerns. Ghosts, memories of her past haunted her thoughts. Illusians danced across her vision, waking dreams. Sometimes she would be back in England, waiting for Joseph to come home. She would rise from the cushions of her armchair, and go to the window. Joseph would come up the road, tramping through the snow. Garnette would open the door for him, and he would step inside, bring the cold air with him. The gust of wind would chill her to the bones, leave her pale and shaking. She would shut the door, and turn to him. His face would be strangely blank, cold, dead. His hands would reach out to her, grabbed her. They were cold as ice. She would struggle, suddenly afraid, but Jospeh had not been a weak man in life and it seemed in death he was even stronger.

He would drag her to the hearth, where the fire blazed, and stick his free hand into the flames. The fire didn't seem to hurt him at all, and when she would lean forward to look more closely it appeared to be going right through him.  
>Jospeh would then grab her neck, and shove her into the flames. She would feel her skin burning, the flesh melting around the bones. Her vision would go dark, erratic, and she would jerk out of the illusion feeling like she was still in the flames.<br>Waking dreams like this plagued her, and the pain increased as she fought against her chains, fought to be free of this horrible, horrible place. It seemed there didn't even need to be a torturer there anymore- her mind tortured her body, and visa versa.  
>So it was almost a relief when Ezio reappeared. Here, at last, was something tangible. He would bring her pain, yes, but the clear concise sort of pain that she could handle. It would drown out the aches and thirst and fever for a time.<br>The Dama Rossa had nearly forgotten about the mixed feelings she had developed for him. If she had recalled, she would have been far less eager for his daily visit.

For once, Ezio's robes weren't white, but dull brown splattered with rusty patches of blood. Some of it was his- he walked with a slight limp, and carried himself carefully as not to aggravate injuries. His eyes were downcast, and he just managed to rearrange his expression into contempt in time to meet her gaze.

It was her turn to pity him.

That pity soon dissolved, with the first sword strike. But that odd feeling of respect was back, even as he carved fresh paths into her skin, sending every nerve in the area screaming.

"Dama Rossa," he said quietly, wiping blood from his sword and sheathing it in a practiced motion. "Tell me what I want to know. You will be doing a good deed. You will be saving lives." He sounded weary, almost desperate. It seemed it was her turn to have power over him.

His words tugged at her emotions, in way she should have never let any enemy's. How could she not feel sorry for him? How could she feel sorry for him? A few days earlier she would have scoffed at the idea, and reached for her hairpin to finish the half-broken man. Now even if she had had the opportunity, the Dama Rossa wouldn;t have been able to bring herself to do it. Now, when she had a deep personal reason to despise him... she didn't. She did, but at the same time she couldn't.

Her advantage was a mere illusion. He had chained her emotions, her resolve, and her killing instinct as easily as he had chained her hands.  
>Still, she would never reveal the Templars' secrets. If she didn't, she knew she would either be driven mad or be killed, but...<p>

Give in, Garnette, the treacherous man whispered. Ezio was speaking, but all she heard was Joseph's words. It is so easy... just let go...

Her morals were the last things she had. They were what separated her and a common thug. She believed in th Templars' cause, and believed traitors to be as bad or worse than outright murderers. These were the things that she had left, the only things Joseph had left her with.

The fact the assassin was trying to rip them away, whether he knew or didn't know that these things kept her sane, added to her hate of him. Added to her respect for him.

Joseph mocked her, and leaned in for a kiss. The assassin's lips brushed hers, and she suddenly couldn't let it be one of his chaste mindscrews, to throw her off balance and reduce her thoughts to turmoil. She deepened the kiss, and he had no choice but respond. The stories were right. Ezio could never resist a pretty woman. She had one brief moment of control, where he was at her mercy.

And then the kiss was over. He reeled back, and glared at her. His tone was suddenly acidic. "You and your brothers kill innocent people, ruin innocent lives."

"I hunt traitors and killers," she replied. Her voice was little more than a rasp.

He was about to reply when the door hidden in the shadows opened. This was a startling deviation from the normal pattern. Though it had been at most three or four days, it already felt to the Dama Rossa like she had lived an eternity in the cell.

A man clad in a brown-orange cloak strode into the room. He regarded Ezio and the Dama Rossa with calculating purple eyes. His gaze ran over the bloodstained walls of the grimy room, and over her tattered clothing. She was suddenly aware of the fact that her already revealing clothing had become somewhat... inadequate at some point in one of the torture sessions. There was nothing lecherous about the way he looked at her however. Indeed, it was quite the opposite. He appeared to be deciding how much of a threat she was.

"La Volpe," Ezio snapped. "What do you want?"

_Oh yes, La Volpe..._she recognized him now. Her hands itched for her hairpin. The Borgias had been hunting this fox for years, only to have him slip from their traps with ease every time.

The master thief cast a glance at the Dama Rossa. "I would prefer not to discuss these matters in the presence of a Templar."

Ezio waved a hand in dismissal. "The signora here will not be released for some time, if ever."

La Volpe smirked. "Very well. I will trust your judgement. One of my thieves overheard two of Cesare's men talking about recruiting a new Templar. She didn't see who they were, but she heard them name the possible recruit. A man called Illario Lombardi. I have looked into him. He is the son of a noble who the previous Pope excommunicated and stripped of his titles and lands. He is seeking favor now with the Borgias, hoping to have his family name restored. Word has reached me that he is becoming a most adept politician."

Ezio nodded slowly. "I will go meet with him, along with a few novices. We will try to turn him to our side. if that fails, we can kill him."

"I will lead you to him," La Volpe turned in the doorway, striding away.

Ezio threw a glance to her, and said "I will deal with you when I return." Before the door slammed shut, she heard him mutter. "Hopefully this man will prove to be less mule headed."  
>Enveloped in darkness once more, she started to sink back into the haze. It was only a few minutes however before there was a thud outside, and the door opened again, and a woman peered into the room. She was wearing a dull green cap, and matching green tunic and leggings.<br>It was only once the woman stepped into the room and pulled off the cap, revealing a mass of blonde curls, that the Dama Rossa recognized Faustina.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Another early update, haha. Last chapter, hope you guys like it.**

**Grace- Yup, this is part of an overarching story I am in the process of writing the first chapter to. It will be called A Thief and a Coward, and will center on Faustina, with the Dama Rossa being a major character.**

The Dama Rossa stared at Faustina. The Thief shut the cell door behind her. She was carrying a candle in one hand, and a set of lock picks in her other. She surveyed the Dama Rossa.

"Can you walk?" Faustina hurried to her side, and began working on the locks of the cuff.

The Dama Rossa shook her head in disbelief. Her normally quick mind was sluggish from the ordeals, and she said stupidly "Faustina... I thought you were away spying on La V-"

She was cut off when Faustina clamped a hand to her mouth. "Yes," the Thief replied, lowering her voice. "That's how I sent the assassin off. But be quiet- you never know who could be listening." She released the Dama Rossa and went back to picking the locks. "I would have liked to kill Ezio, the bastard, but I doubt I would succeed where so many of the others failed." She flashed crooked grin. "Besides, you know full well I am a coward."

The Dama Rossa managed a chuckle. "You keep telling me that..." Faustina let out a small exclamation of satisfaction, and the cuffs snapped open. She was far quicker unlocking the ones holding the other woman's feet, and soon the Dama Rossa was free.

She tried to stand, and promptly collapsed. It was all she could do not to fall unconscious. Dehydration, exhaustion, and the numerous beatings had taken their toll. The Thief swore, and rolled her over onto her side. She heard her rustling for something in her pack, and a minute later a flask was being held to her lips.

_Water._The cool liquid trickled down the Dama Rossa's throat, at last soothing the ache. She forced herself to drink it slowly, knowing if she didn't she would throw it straight back up, but it was hard not to succumb to temptation and gulp it down.

The water revived her somewhat, and she managed to struggle into the drab colored shirt, pants, and cap the Thief threw her, similar to the ones Faustina wore in place of her usual blue getup. They were a size or two too big, and fit easily over the Dama Rossa's tattered clothes.  
>"Right," Faustina helped her to her feet. The Dama Rossa had to lean heavily on the Thief. ;The Assassins know me as one of La Volpe's thieves. You'll be my drunk friend I;m helping home. We won't be attacked out on the streets. The only problem is getting out of here unseen."<p>

The Dama Rossa nodded wearily. She was still trembling, despite her efforts to hold her limbs still. Faustina shot her a glance, and seeing the state she was in took off the thick cloak she wore, and draped it around her shoulders, pulling the hood up to cover her bruised face.

She didn't question why her friend the self-professed coward was risking so much to free her. That could wait. Now she was just grateful to be getting away.

The light in the corridor outside was blinding to someone who had spent the last days in near perpetual darkness. She squeezed her eyes shut against the dazzling glare off the stone walls, and relied on Faustina to lead the ways.

_You're going to just forget about this, aren't you?_ the malevolent voice whispered. She stumbled. _You can't just forget this. You can't go back to your Templar friends and act like nothing happened._

She shook her head, trying to make Joseph go away. "You can admire an enemy without being a traitor," she replied.

Faustina paused. "What?"

_You are a traitor..._ Joseph smiled. He looked _proud_. _Can't blame me anymore, can you? Now you know how easy it is... So easy Garnette... Garnette..._

"Garnette!" someone was shaking her. The Dama Rossa opened her eyes, disoriented. How much time had passed? She vaguely remembered escaping from the Assassin base, stumbling along the streets of Roma. But the whole time she had been somewhere else, maybe it was back in England, or in the cabin of Joseph's ship.

Her vision focused. Faustina was bent over her, looking concerned. She was lying on her back on a bed. The room was comfortingly dim, and comfortably familiar. Faustina;s hideout. The air was cold, and the room was dusty. it looked like the Thief hadn't been back for a long time. A horrifying realization dawned on her. She struggled to sit up, trying to form the words.

Faustina pushed her back down. "Garnette, you need to rest. That bastard assassino-"

"No," protested Garnette- for when she was around Faustina, she was Garnette wasn't she? She was human. Not just the cold murderess her enemies believed her to be. "Ezio will be coming after us!"

"Calm down," the thief replied soothingly. "He will be occupied for a while. I made sure of that. I made sure of that. And he won't find this place- I'm good at hiding."

The Dama Rossa's eyes widened. "You... you... got them to leave..." She felt stupid. "But how did you fool La Volpe into believing in a false Templar candidate?"

An expression briefly passed over Faustina's features. She locked her face into its trademark smile in seconds, but the Dama Rossa recognized the emotion- fear. "I didn't. Officer Viscardi mentioned Lombardi, and how Cesare was interested in recruiting him. I told La Volpe, and said I had overheard the Officer and the Captain talking about him."

She stared at the thief. "You mean... you handed over one of Cesare;s toys to La Volpe?" The notion that this made _Faustina_a traitor flickered across her mind.

"Yes," Faustina nodded.

"Faustina..." the Dama Rossa pushed away the thoughts. "Cesare is going to kill you for betraying him."

The Thief shook her head, blonde curls bouncing. "You're more valuable to Cesare than some snake of politician who probably would betray him at the drop of a hat." She grinned, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Besides, that stunt proves my loyalty to La Volpe... now the old fox trusts me." She pulled a small vial from her pocket. It was filled with a white powder.

The Dama Rosa eyed it. "You paid a visit to Lucrezia," she observed. "Is that cantarella?"

"Close," she said. "It's a type of arsenic, at least. Cantarella would be a bit _too_obvious." She tucked the vial away. "If I off La Volpe, and manage to gain the loyalty of his thieves, it will not doubt make up for using Lombardi as a sacrifice."

"Thank you," Garnette said.

Faustina met her gaze, and nodded. "Couldn't let you rot in that cell, could I?"

The Thief looked confident in her assumption that their master would forgive her, but the Dama Rossa knew it was far from a certain thing. Cesare Borgia had a fickle temper, and would probably at least want to teach Faustina a lesson for doing something like that without his permission.

She knew Faustina knew that. Which was why it made it all the more astonishing the Thief had risked so much to save her. Perhaps there were some Templars who held just as much loyalty to their comrades as the assassins did.

"I wish I could have killed the master assassin," Faustina said quietly, gesturing at the her. "What he did to you... the _assassino_knows no mercy it seems."

The Dama Rossa shifted uneasily. The conviction in her rescuer's voice bothered her a bit, and she almost defended the assassin. Common sense got the better of her however and she kept silent.

Her side twinged. She had been so caught up in worrying about the possibility of pursuit, of being dragged back to that place, that she hadn't remembered her injuries. Someone- Faustina, most likely, as the Dama Rossa knew of her friend's distrust of doctors- had cleaned and bandaged her injuries. The bruises had already begun to fade, but it would be a long time before she would be back to full fighting capacity. She stretched her arms, feeling the protesting of scores of small injuries.  
>Faustina returned to her side. "You can stay here until you recover. I can't remain here for more then a few days without my absence alerting La Volpe, but I should probably be able to drop by at least once every few days."<p>

The Dama Rossa nodded. "Thank you," she said again.

"It's night now," Faustina stood up. "I'll stay here tonight, and return to La Volpe's thieves in the morning." She pulled a blanket out of the rickety cupboard that stood at the other side of the hideout, and settled down on the floor to sleep.

The Dama Rossa closed her eyes. Joseph was waiting, along with Ezio and the others.

She couldn't figure out if they were nightmares or fantasies.

Faustina woke. Garnette was tossing and turning, whimpering in her sleep. The Thief tried to ignore it, but the Dama Rossa sounded scared, and in pain.

She stood up and made her way over to the bed, stepping instinctively around the obstacles strewn around the room. For a moment she stood at the bedside, watching Garnette sleep. Then she did something hadn't done since her brother had died.

The Thief curled up next to the Dama Rossa in the bed. She was vaguely embarrased at the intimate gesture, but it had always worked for her brother, when they were kids. She was still drowsy, and probably not thinking clearly.

Garnette stopped thrashing around. The Thief thought she saw a smile cross the Dama Rossa's lips.

When Garnette woke the next morning, Joseph had been chased away by a coward with half a pair of scissors and a doppelganger assassin.

_Loyalty is a multifaceted quality._


End file.
